


work me into your miracle

by toomuchsky



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, M/M, i have no idea how the fbi works and i'm sure that shows, rating might go up later i have no idea where this fic is going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchsky/pseuds/toomuchsky
Summary: When John Silver escapes from supermax three months before his release in a vain attempt to save his partner Max from the same fate, James Flint catches him - again. Except this time, Silver negotiates a work release into Flint's custody, Max escapes and joins the Rangers crew with plans to steal treasure worth over 50 million dollars, and his husband Thomas won't stop inviting his CI over for dinner. When Madi Scott, known activist and social justice consultant, reaches out to give Silver a place to stay and starts filling James' head about how they could reform the FBI, things don't get much easier for him.or, the white collar fic that no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by [@tomasortega's](http://tomasortega.tumblr.com/) [white collar au on tumblr](http://tomasortega.tumblr.com/post/172575617294/white-collar-au-pretty-please) & [my tumblr post about a black sails white collar au](http://toomuchsky.tumblr.com/post/180894841764/black-sails-white-collar-au).

The fading light outside snags on the window panes as it strains for the floor of the empty warehouse he’s found himself in. John Silver turns the bottle he’d found around and around in his hands, unable to fully let it go. The sun is kissing the horizon outside, and it bathes the whole warehouse in pinks, oranges, and yellows. The ship inside of the bottle sways and clunks as it gets jostled, and it almost masks the telltale sound of heavy footsteps into the warehouse.

Silver holds up the bottle - slowly, so no one could mistake it for a firearm - as he says to the newcomer and the SWAT team that was no doubt behind him, “The Urca de Lima.” He taps the bottle with his fingers, nails clinking on the glass. “One of our favorite stories to tell each other. About pirates and mountains of gold - always reminded us we could have it all.”

There’s a snort, and the figure stalking toward him rounds the corner so Silver can look up at him. Agent James Flint looks down at him, gun brandished but pointing down and away from Silver. The light filtering through the bottle paints a rainbow on his chest, and it makes something in Silver’s heart flutter. “That didn’t get either of you very far, did it?”

Silver scoffs. “Yeah, I guess not.” He runs a hand, almost absentmindedly, but he doesn’t really do anything absentmindedly, along the thigh of his incomplete leg, mouth automatically pulling into a scowl as he does. It hurts - it’s been hurting more than it should, he knows that. The fever and the dizzy spells are new and dangerous, but after the monotony of prison life he almost relishes the novelty at least.

“Why’d she leave it behind, then?” Flint asks, nodding at the bottle. Silver hasn’t seen this man in years, not since he woke up with one leg missing and handcuffed to the hospital bed, the interrogations, and the trial. He’d filled out, gained more muscle, and the clearance rack suit he had on was tight against his chest.

Silver’s clutching the bottle a little too hard, and he makes himself loosen his grip. _Max_. “It means goodbye,” he says, softly. He looks up at Flint. “I was too late, wasn’t I?”

Flint sighs, holstering the gun. “By about five hours.”

Silver looks away again, throat welling with emotion. He sets the bottle down on the concrete floor next to the stump of his knee. It had grown hot and tight against the prosthetic while he was trying to get here, and - his jaw clenches. If only he’d been _faster_ , _quicker, whole_ \- maybe he could have saved her -

“For what it's worth, I’m sorry.”

Silver looks up at him. He’s trying to school his features but knows he’s probably not succeeding. He’s been really bad at that, since the accident, and he - he used to be _so good_ \- “Will I see her again?”

“Max is in holding and interrogation right now. Depending on how that goes, she’ll be transferred to a supermax prison upstate within the week.” Flint pauses, giving him a second to process that. “She’ll likely get 5 to 10 years, depending on the intel she’s willing to provide us.”

“Intel about the Vasquez files.”

“Yes,” Flint says. He takes handcuffs out of his belt holster and gestures for Silver to stand up. In his feverish haze, it almost looks like Flint could move the beams of light sifting through the broken panes of the window, bend the sun’s rays to his will. But then, he’s always believed Flint could work miracles - he’d caught _John Silver_ , after all. “You got anything you want to tell me about that?”

Silver shrugs, moving to put his prosthetic back on. He grunts in pain at the pinch he feels - that he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to feel - as the plastic boot goes over the stump. “I don’t know anything about it, honest - I never saw it.” He gives himself a second to recover before tipping forward and trying to get himself to a standing position.

He stumbles, feet catching on the gravel and tumbling forward.

Flint catches him, almost by reflex, and then hisses. “Jesus, John, you’re burning up - what the fuck happened to you?”

Silver flinches in pain as he puts weight on his bad leg again. Flint is so _warm_ , and for a ridiculous second, he just wants to stay wrapped in his arms forever. “I - _fuck_ \- not a ton of healthcare options for amputees in prison, Agent.” He grits his teeth and tries to step away from Flint’s chest. “I’m dealing with it the best I can.”

“You’re _not_ dealing with it,” Flint’s saying, but for whatever reason his face is kind of blurry, and Silver has to squint to make out his features, and - is he swaying? “Silver? Silver, fuck - “

And that’s the last thing he sees before the darkness eats away at his vision.

 

He wakes up for the second time in his life handcuffed to a hospital bed with Agent James Flint, FBI, sitting in a chair besides him. At least this time he has all the limbs he’d come in with.

“We’re making a habit of this, Agent,” Silver says, voice groggy with whatever medicine they’d decided to give him. He rustles up one of his old cocky grins, but he’s not sure it pastes on his face the way he wants it to. He _hates_ the way that pain meds make him feel. He’s loose, and has no control over what his body is doing. “Sure you don’t want to make it official?”

Flint huffs in laughter, closing up the case file he’d been working on and putting it aside. “How are you feeling?” He stands and moving to the head of the bed, putting a hand on Silver’s shoulder.

Silver laughs, relishing the warmth seeping into his body through that point of contact. “Drugged.” Flint’s hand on his shoulder feels like where the world stops and starts - where it ends, and where it begins.

The corner of Flint’s smile pulls up into a smirk. “Yeah, they’ve got you on a good cocktail here.” He frowns, and his face becomes impossibly soft. “You really messed up your leg in there, Silver. What happened?”

It’s a lie - the softness is a lie, and Silver knows it. He knows what that face looks like when it’s - when it’s - “That’s not fair,” Silver says, suddenly, heart rate spiking. “That’s not - not fair.”

The machine he’s hooked up to starts beeping and Flint rushes to placate him. “Shh, shh - calm down. It’s okay.”

“You don’t get to - get to take _advantage_ ,” Silver says, and his tongue feels so heavy. His eyelids feel so heavy. He hates this - he _hates_ feeling like he can’t speak. He can’t lose his words as well as his _leg_ , it would break him. “You don’t get to ask me questions like that right now.”

He can feel himself drifting off even as Flint says, “Okay. Okay, just get some rest then.”

 

The next time he wakes, he’s much more lucid, and it’s nighttime. Someone had opened a window, and the cool night air and sounds of city traffic filter through to the quiet hospital room. Flint, for his part, is still here, sitting in the same position he was last time. He’s got his case file open in front of him again.

“You’re going after the Rangers?” Silver asks, before he can stop himself. It’s dark, but the lights from outside give him just enough to see the label on the file by. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, feeling the itchy hospital sheets pull against his new bandages and leaning back against the pillows before continuing, “Why are you - “

Flint snaps the folder closed before Silver can finish his question, but not before Silver catches a glimpse of a photograph in the file in the passing headlight of a car. “It’s confidential.”

“It’s Max, isn’t it?” Silver says, heart pounding in his chest again. “It has to be - you’ve never gone after the Rangers before, and she’s got connections with their crew - “

Flint doesn’t say anything. His jaw clenches, just so, and that’s what gives it away.

“She got away.” The laugh that rips out of him is bright and airy, and he could get high on this feeling. “She made it out - she’s with the Rangers.” She _escaped_. She got _out_ , and Silver is pretty sure Vane and his crew would be able to make do with the information on the Vasquez files, whatever it was.

But knows that he’s more useful to them - more useful to Max - on the outside than back in prison.

Flint scowls at him.

He just has to figure out how to make that happen.

“I know you needed her, but you can’t possibly expect me not to be happy about this - contrary to popular belief, prison’s not _fun_. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all my best friend.” Silver’s hands involuntarily clench in the bedsheets, and knows Flint catches the small slip. “And besides, you know I had nothing to do with it, I’ve been here the whole time.”

Flint snorts. “Yes, it’s part of why we haven’t charged you with anything more than your little escape attempt.” Flint grins, and it turns a little feral in the dark. “Which, by the way. That makes twice I’ve caught you now.”

Silver rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway. “I only had one and a half legs this time, the victory can’t count for much. Speaking of which, don’t you have a job to do? Why are you here?”

“This is my job,” Flint says. “Until I see you safely back to that supermax upstate, you’re stuck with me.”

“What if - “ Silver’s breath catches in his lungs. “What if I didn’t have to go back?”

There’s a long, painful silence, and the words he’s not saying scratch against Silver’s throat. “John,” Flint starts, voice impossibly pitying, and Silver can’t _stand_ it. “I know it must be hard, but - “

Silver growls. “I don’t mean - look. There’s precedent. I could be released into your custody for the rest of my sentence - become a criminal informant. I know the FBI does that.” His hands clench at the sheets again. “And I know - I know I can’t do everything I used to be able to do, but I still have my connections, and I can be _useful_ in other ways.” He looks up at Flint. The moonlight glints along his features, the city passing by uncaringly outside the window, and his face is impossible to read. “Just - just think about it?”

Flint sighs. “For this to even work - and I’m not sure that it _would_ \- “ he adds when he sees Silver’s eyes light up, hand up to stop him, “you’d need to give us something solid. Some sort of lead we can follow up on to cement that you’d have more value on the outside than on the inside.”

Silver sifts through his memories to find something he can tell Flint - someone he wouldn’t mind betraying, selling out to the Feds, and someone where betraying them had the least chance of coming back to bite him in the ass. “I know where Dufresne’s counterfeit printmaking shop is. Interestingly, it’s inside of a condemned building, so you wouldn’t even need a warrant to get in.” Silver gestures vaguely. “Not that that would stop _you_ , of course.”

“Dufresne is small fry, he wouldn’t be enough for us to - “

“But Hornigold isn’t, is he?” Silver grins, sharp and catlike, at the surprise on Flint’s face. “Get into the shop, Agent. I think you’ll be quite pleased with what you find.”

 

A month later, Silver is being released into the custody of one Agent James Flint. He steps across the threshold of the prison door, and breathes in the brisk November air as a free man.

Flint stands at the end of the lane with his car, leaning against it in a gray peacoat, looking for all the world like a male model during a photoshoot.

“Find the counterfeit bonds, did you?” Silver asks, grinning at him as he walks down the path. Leaves crunch under his feet, and Silver finds indescribable joy in just that.

“Don’t get so cocky - it almost wasn’t enough to release you, especially so soon after your little Manhattan adventure.”

“Yet here I am,” Silver says, coming to a stop in front of Flint. The wind blows, cutting through Silver’s bomber jacket, and tousles Flint’s hair.

“Yet here you are,” Flint agrees, then gestures to Silver’s leg. “Well, let’s see it.”

Silver pulls up his pant leg to show off the shiny new ankle monitor they’d fitted him with before letting him step out the door, and watches Flint’s face crumple with annoyance. “What?” Silver says, defensively. “If you’re about to tell me I can’t be on the field with a prosthetic, let me remind you of a piece of legislation that was signed into law years ago - “

Flint makes an annoyed sound and waves a hand to shut him up. “Shut up, that’s not it. I’m just wondering what absolute piece of shit _idiot_ put the anklet on the _fake fucking leg_.”

Silver grins again, wide. “Was hoping that had slipped past your attention.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver finds his new digs subpar, goes to dinner, hears from an old friend, and gets his first case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that this took so long to get to y’all - work and life and other projects took priority for a while, but I swear I haven’t abandoned this!! Inspiration just takes a second to strike sometimes. Either way, hope you enjoy!

They refit the anklet on Silver’s real ankle, and then start in on the drive back into town. Flint’s strangely apprehensive about the five hour trip into the city with Silver in the passenger seat - Flint has known Silver to con his way into millions of dollars with much less time - but Silver actually ends up napping for most of the ride, waking only to demand snacks when they stop for gas an hour outside the city.

“God, I missed these things,” Silver’s saying, licking orange cheeto dust off of his fingers.

Flint makes a face. “That’s disgusting.”

Silver nods, curls bouncing, the fading sunlight filtering through them. “Until you haven’t had them in three years, then they’re _heaven_.” He waves the bag under Flint’s nose. “Want one?”

“No, thanks,” Flint says, grimacing. It’s easier to forget how much younger Silver is than him when he isn’t sitting in his passenger seat bouncing like a five year old on his first sugar high. “Just don’t get any on the car.”

“Aye aye cap’n,” Silver says, grabbing one of the napkins in the glove compartment. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Oh, _this_ he can’t wait to see. “Your new home away from home,” Flint says, smirking slightly in anticipation.

 

The look on John Silver’s face when he sees the state of the motel he has to stay in is even better than Flint had expected.

“This is, uh…” Silver starts, running his hand through his hair. “There’s no easy way to say this - this is worse than prison, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Flint snaps, instantly annoyed, and grabs the shoulder of Silver’s bomber jacket to pull him forward. “This is all the federal government is willing to pay for convicted criminals, I’m afraid.”

The inside is somehow even worse than Flint had expected. The wood on the stairs is clearly rotting, the whole place reeks of cat urine, and the lighting and carpeting looks straight out of the kind of B-rated horror flicks Thomas makes them marathon every Halloween.

They have the receptionist show them to Silver’s room, and Silver doesn’t say anything even when the door opens to reveal the mangy dog laying on the bed in Silver’s room.

“Well. Welcome to your new place,” Flint says, voice slightly tight. This was worse than even _he_ was expecting.

Silver makes a small noise in his throat. He steps forward and the dog leaps off the bed and trots between them out the door. “Cool,” Silver almost laughs. “I guess prison didn’t have dogs?”

He dumps his duffel bag on the bed, looking a little lost, and Flint takes that as his cue to start in on his speech. “So, couple of housekeeping things before I leave you to get settled.” Flint hands him the government issued phone. Silver takes it, the bed creaking as he sits down to look at it.

“One. Here’s your phone. My number and the Marshalls’ numbers are the only ones programmed into it right now. I’m legally obligated to tell you that it’s tapped. I’m sure you’ll find a way to get your hands on another one that we can’t track quickly enough, but at least I’ve done my job this way.”

He sticks out two fingers, and watches Silver’s face carefully as he says, “Two. As you know, this arrangement is only on a trial basis. I’m not fully convinced that you’re not more of a liability to us on the outside, especially with recent developments.” Silver’s face is very precisely, coolly controlled, and it’s not like Flint expected anything different.

He continues, “The trial period is for two weeks. We’ll reevaluate your place here at the end of those two weeks.” He puts up the third finger. “Three - and this is the important one.” Flint takes a deep breath. “I will not officially make you work Max’s case with me, mostly because I don’t trust you to be any help on it, but I have to know that you’re not going to jeopardize it. If you do, you get sent right back to prison, Silver, and this time it’s not going to be just for four years. And if you’re planning on running, just remember I’m two for two in catching you, and both of those were _before_ you had a device that broadcasts your location at every second placed on you.”

Flint has no illusions that Silver’s not already working on a way to get rid of the tracking anklet, but at least for now, it’s a way to keep an eye on him. Silver’s face is still annoyingly passive as he stares at his suitcase on the bed, deliberately not looking Flint in the eye.

“Deal?” Flint presses. He has to get this verbal confirmation. He’s not stupid - he knows the only reason Silver asked him for this arrangement is to get closer to whatever Max and the Rangers are planning.

“Why did you agree to this?” Silver asks, suddenly, in a tone that’s supposed to imply he’s just thought of this, which probably means he’s been sitting on this question for at least the whole drive here. “Why did you say yes to the deal - or, try and get this arrangement, or - whatever?” Silver trains the blue eyes that have conned many, many people into giving up secrets, money, and security codes on Flint. “What’s in it for you?”

Flint knows Silver’s not stupid, either, but this lie comes from higher up than him. “My...superiors are convinced that you would be an asset to us due to your past connections. Whether or not I agree with them depends on the answer I still haven’t gotten from you.”

Silver quirks a small smile in the corner of his mouth, tucks his curls behind his ear and looks up at Flint in a practiced move that probably works on many people. “Didn't I tell you, Agent? The bottle means goodbye.”

They both know he’s lying, but Flint’s phone starts ringing - Thomas’ ringtone - before he can poke any further. “Sorry,” Flint says, waving the phone. “It’s - “

“Thomas,” Silver says, grinning, and waves him away. “Go ahead, take it.”

Flint just stares at him.

Silver shrugs. “Your voice. The inflection. Usually reserved for loved ones.”

Flint shakes his head, realizing too late the ringtone had ended and Thomas was probably at his voicemail by now. “Whatever. Have fun settling in. I’ll see you tomorrow - 7 o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Silver says again as Flint closes the door behind him, rolling his eyes.

He waits until he’s downstairs and in his car before calling Thomas back.

“Hey,” Flint says, turning the car on. “I’m just on my way home now, do you need anything?”

“Oh, marvelous - I can’t wait to finally meet the man you’ve been obsessed with for four years,” Thomas is saying, and it takes Flint’s brain a couple of seconds to catch up. “Do you know if he has any allergies? I’m halfway through cooking but I totally forgot to ask - “

“Wait. Thomas. What?”

“Keep up, dear, I’m asking if he has any allergies - why don’t you just put him on the phone instead, it’ll be faster - “

“Thomas,” Flint says, finally feeling like he can get ground under him again. “My _criminal informant_ is not _coming over_ for dinner.”

“Of course he is, darling, it’s his first night back in the city - his first night out of _prison_ \- you can’t leave him alone in that dump the federal government picked out for him. You at least owe him this, after all the long nights poring over him - “

“Poring over his _crimes_ . That he _committed_ ,” Flint says, through gritted teeth.

Thomas scoffs. “Oh, like _you’ve_ never committed any crimes - James Flint McGraw-Hamilton, my dearest truest love, if you do not turn around right now and invite that boy over for dinner I will definitely, 100% divorce you.”

And Flint doesn’t really have a choice, after that. “Not if I divorce you first, you absolute _asshole_.”

 

“What?” Silver says, excitedly, over the phone. “Dinner at your house? Does that mean I get to meet Shakespeare?” He gasps. “Does that mean I get to meet _Thomas_?”

Flint sighs, clenching the steering wheel a little harder. He’s annoyed all over again as he remembers the memories of getting birthday presents from Silver for years, left on the doorstep with no return address and no trace to the thief himself. To add insult to injury, it seemed, Silver would always send Shakespeare new dog toys on his birthday too, just to prove he could. “May I remind you I can send you back to prison with one phone call.”

Silver laughs, bright and tinny over the phone. “Trust me, it’s hard to forget.”

“Shut up. Just be ready by 6. I’ll pick you up.”

Flint hangs up and rolls his eyes again, just for good measure, even though no one’s watching. He can’t believe he’d been talked into this. He’d spent the whole day so worried about Silver and his plans that he’d left himself wide open for an attack from another corner. He shakes himself as the traffic light turns green, managing to slide into a tight parking spot next to his favorite coffeeshop before the car behind him honks at him. He _hates_ driving in the city.

It’s not like one dinner is going to mean anything, he tells himself. He even has a plausible excuse, if anyone asks - he didn’t trust Silver out on his own on the first night, so he’s keeping an eye on him.

This was a bad idea, and he knew it.

He makes his way into the coffeeshop and tries not to treat it like an omen when they’re out of his favorite pastry for the day.

 

When he goes to pick up Silver, he isn’t overly surprised to find that Silver had dressed up - Thomas’s birthday gifts were always much better and more expensive than his; it’s clear Silver has always wanted to impress Thomas.

But an expensive looking three piece suit is not what Flint had expected, especially on his budget.

“Hey,” Silver says, sliding into the passenger seat. He smells - well, he smells a little bit like cat pee, due to the motel - but also like coconut, and his curls bounce as he fixes them.

“Where did you get that suit?” Flint asks, suspicious.

Silver laughs. “Absolutely no trust at all - don’t worry, I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I am absolutely thinking that, and forgive me if I don’t instantly take your word for it - where did you get that suit?”

“Easy, Agent - I went down to the thrift store to see what I could scrounge up, and some lady was giving away a huge selection of old, classic rat pack suits. Fucking gorgeous honestly, can’t believe she was ready to just give them away - been wanting one of these forever but never got around to buying it for myself. Really should have though, would have been _so_ worth it.” He gestures grandly to himself and then settles back into the seat. “Wanted to grab a bottle of wine too, you know, to be hospitable, but - well, she didn’t have any of those on her, unfortunately.”

Flint fixes him with a look. “Really.”

Silver throws up his hands in easy defeat and laughs again. “Feel free to investigate - if it didn’t go down the way I said, you’re welcome to send me back to jail.”

Flint grumbles, but can’t do anything about it until the morning. And anyway, a rambling Silver usually means he’s telling the truth. At least about part of it. “Don’t doubt that I will,” he says dangerously as he pulls away and merges into traffic.

Silver laughs again. “I would never.”

 

Silver gawks at everything as soon as he steps out of the garage. “Holy shit, you’re rich. How the fuck do you afford this on an FBI and policy researcher salary?”

“You already know that we don’t,” Flint says, annoyed at the act Silver’s putting on.

“Sorry, old habit,” Silver says, grinning widely. Of course Silver already knew that Thomas came from old, old New England money - he’s known everything about them for a while, and took the opportunity to show that off every chance he got. “But to be fair, I’ve never been here before.”

Flint almost stops in his tracks. Only his FBI undercover training keeps him moving forward. “You haven’t?”

Silver shakes his head as they climb the stairs to the front porch. He looks at Flint like he knows he’s giving something away. “I’ve never been here in person.”

Well, fuck. That opens up multiple other questions for him - how did he get the packages here? Who was he working with? Now wasn’t the time to get into it, though, when they’re about to go _inside his home_ to _meet his husband_ , so he just knocks on the door.

He isn’t about to get his keys out in front of Silver.

Silver smirks, looking away. “No trust at all,” he says, chuckling.

“Come in, it’s open,” Flint hears Thomas yell.

He opens the door to let him and Silver in and instantly gets hit with a wall of smoke and sounds of his dog barking. Coughing, he pushes through - “Thomas! Are you okay?”

He runs into the kitchen to find Thomas coughing and waving smoke away as he takes a completely burnt rotisserie chicken out of the oven. Shakespeare is running circles around the attached living room, trying to get away from the smoke. “Sorry, sorry,” Thomas is saying. “Miranda and I were having an argument about veganism for her new article and I totally forgot about the chicken - because I was busy absolutely discrediting her sources, I might add.”

“ _Thomas_ ,” Flint says tightly, heart still racing. He maneuvers around Thomas to open the kitchen window, despite the cold. “You _idiot_. You have to pay more attention - you could have burnt down the house.” He pauses for a second, noting the distinct lack of high pitched screaming. “Why isn’t the smoke detector going off?”

Thomas waves him away before dumping the entire chicken in the garbage can. “Remember that time we had to change the batteries because Shakespeare kept barking at it when it went off?”

“Yes…?”

He grins disarmingly at Flint. “I...didn’t.”

_“Thomas_ ,” Flint says, annoyed. “That could have been _so dangerous_.”

Thomas completely ignores him to turn to Silver, who’s been stuck in the doorway of the kitchen watching all this play out. He’s absentmindedly petting Shakespeare, who’s turned into loving putty under his hand, the traitor. “Hello, love - I’m so sorry about this. I swear I’m usually a good cook, you just caught me on an off day.”

Silver grins, leaning against the doorjamb. “I mean, so did your husband, when he arrested me.”

Thomas grins, leaning against the countertop, and then laughs. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

Flint groans. He was so fucked.

 

They end up ordering pizza and munch on the side salad - the only part of the dinner that Thomas had prepared that hadn’t gone up in flames - in the living room while waiting for it to be delivered, and honestly? Even Flint has to admit the night’s not bad.

Thomas brings out a bottle of red wine, and that launches Silver and Thomas into an argument about the best kinds of wine and different pairings for almost 45 minutes. The only thing they can agree on is that despite what Buzzfeed says, white wine is the only acceptable wine for spicy food.

“Can you imagine eating spicy - Indian, or Mexcian, or whatever -” Silver says, drunkenly waving his hands in the air and raising Flint’s anxiety about wine stains on his couch. “And drinking a _merlot_? Instead of a - literally any white?”

“Exactly,” Thomas is saying, slamming his hand down on the couch arm to punctuate each syllable. Shakespeare looks up lazily from where he’s curled up next to Silver and whines at the sudden noise. “And in the same vein, you _cannot_ drink rosé if you’re a goddamn adult with any kind of taste buds!”

“That is rich white people speak and you know it!” Silver yells, going back to petting Shakespeare behind his ears, lulling him back to sleep. “Rosé is good and if you would just open your bigoted mind you would see that!”

“You are _also_ a rich white person Silver,” Flint says, somehow fascinated by the way the light glints off of the white wine in his wine glass.

Silver waves a hand. “That’s not _real_ money, though, not like _this_ ,” he says, gesturing to the room around them.

There’s a small pause.

“Is that why you do it?” Thomas says, much softer now, eyes crinkling down. Flint has a sudden, unbidden appreciation for his husband’s conniving ways. “To have something like this?”

The air in the room gets tenser, and Silver doesn’t look either of them in the eye. Their old clock in the foyer chimes 9 o’clock in the silence, and Silver’s mouth pulls down.

“If you think,” Silver says finally, and Flint doesn’t think he’s imagining the distinct lack of slurring or how much more sober he sounds now. “That you can get me drunk and get my whole life story out of me that way,” Silver looks up finally, grinning widely, vacantly. “You’ll find I’m better at what I do than I let on.”

The silence is thick, with Thomas and Silver facing each other down, neither willing to budge.

Finally, Flint gets up. He’s only had one or two glasses of wine, so he offers, “Come on, let me drive you home.”

Silver finishes off his wine in one final gulp, and stands, face still shuttered closed. Shakespeare whines again at the sudden movement and lack of contact, but goes to Thomas when he calls and curls up next to him instead.

Flint shoots Thomas a grateful look and leads Silver through the entryway toward the door. He doesn’t notice SIlver’s not following him anymore until he turns to put his shoes back on. “Silver?” he calls, turning back.

Silver’s stopped halfway through the entryway, staring at one of the paintings they have up. “You kept it,” he says, voice tight and surprised. “You kept it and you put it _up_.”

Flint retraces his steps back toward Silver so he can get a better view of the painting Silver’s talking about - Thomas had always been more of the interior designer. He instantly recognizes it as one of the paintings that Silver had sent them for Thomas’ birthday, and a small smile finds its way onto Flint’s face. “Yeah,” Flint says. “Thomas liked it so much he fought the FBI for it once we’d done our tests - you’ll be proud to know that we, of course, found nothing.”

It’s a large painting - a painting of a dog that looks remarkably like Shakespeare lounging in a library that looks remarkably like a room in their beach house in New Jersey, with its walls and walls of bookshelves and large bay window overlooking the ocean.

“He loved the attention to detail,” Flint says, when Silver still hasn’t said anything. “Especially the book titles.” He chuckles. “I could never figure out how you knew exactly what it looked like, though - I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

That seems to startle Silver out of whatever feelings he’s having. “Facebook, Flint. Obviously.” Silver looks at him and makes a horrified face. “You didn’t think I actually went to _New Jersey_ , did you?”

 

Silver doesn’t say anything the whole ride home, staring moodily out of the window at the passing lights. When they pull up to Silver’s motel, he still hasn’t said a word, and doesn’t make any moves to get out of the car. It’s like he’s waiting for something.

There’s a short silence, and then Flint gives in and chuckles. He’s half joking, trying to lighten the mood, when he says, “We’ll make sure to count the silverware when I get back.”

SIlver looks at him, and his face practically _glows_ in the moonlight. Finally, he says, “You really don’t trust me, huh?”

Flint sobers quickly. He exhales loudly. He can’t afford to get taken in by Silver’s charm, he knows this.

Dinner had been a bad idea.

He stares at the steering wheel as he says, “Silver you are a world renowned con man. Your entire job is to make me trust you. I of all people know that I can’t trust you, especially not with this new relationship we have with each other.”

The silence now is longer, more weighted.

“Right,” Silver says, finally, and gets out of the car, slamming the door closed on his way out.

 

Walking back into his shitty motel room after his evening at the McGraw-Hamilton’s was like...well, exactly like walking into a tiny dark, smelly motel room with hideous art feels. It felt like the end of a fairytale, Cinderella after the ball, in her rags once again, sleeping on the floor after dancing with the prince all night.

Damn, how much had he drank? He was being downright maudlin - maybe all the pretending to be drunk had actually made him drunk. He rubs at his left thigh, pressing as close to the stub as he dared. His toes - the nonexistent ones - _ached_.

Silver was alone, again. He’s used to _being_ alone, but he hadn’t _felt_ this alone since - since before he met Max.

A phone rings, and it takes Silver a couple of seconds in his tipsy state to place the buzzing as the phone Flint had given him this morning. He stares at the screen - it’s a blocked number. He slides to answer it, puts it to his ear, and says, “I don’t know who you are, but I should tell you this phone is being monitored by the FBI.”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Eleanor Guthrie hisses at him from the other line.

All the rage Silver’s been bottling up comes rushing out all at once, and it throbs under his skin. His voice shakes with it as he says, “You’ve got some nerve, calling me after what you did to Max.”

“How is she? Do you know anything?”

“Why? So you can rat her out to the Feds - _again_?” Silver hisses. He hadn’t realized he could hold this much anger within him. It spills out of him, like oozing lava that burns everything it touches and some things it doesn’t.

“Oh, like you’re any better right now - _criminal informant_ , is that right? Heard Dufresne’s print shop got shut down, by the way.”

“What do you _want_?” Silver growls.

There’s an uncharacteristically long pause. Eleanor Guthrie doesn’t do emotion, doesn’t do _feelings_ \- she’d made that _very_ clear. “Just - to know that she’s okay. Can you at least tell me that?”

“You lost the right to worry about her when you fucked her over instead of just fucking her, Guthrie.” And he hangs up, flinging the phone across the bed.

The anger leaves him just as quickly as it had filled him, and he’s suddenly exhausted. He slips under the covers, still dressed, and goes almost immediately to sleep.

 

“I’m sure you already know this,” Silver says as he slides into the passenger seat the next day. “But Eleanor Guthrie and I had a chat last night.”

“Oh?” Flint says, and he actually sounds surprised.

“Yeah, she wanted to know about Max,” Silver says, flicking his new sunglasses - thanks, Goodwill - over his eyes. “I told her to fuck off, of course, but thought you should know.”

Flint just grunts, pulls the car into reserve and maneuvers them onto the main road toward the FBI office.

Silver turns to study him. There’s no way he didn’t know about the conversation - a workaholic like Flint would have read over the tapped transcript this morning over a coffee like it was the front page of the newspaper. It clicks - “You didn’t think I’d tell you.”

Flint’s eyes flicker over to him, studying him in turn. “No, I didn’t,” he says finally.

Silver sighs. “Look, if we’re going to be working together I figure I need to earn your trust. This seemed the easiest way to start on that path.”

Flint nods sharply. “Good,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate any further.

When they get into the office, Flint doesn’t waste any time introducing him to anyone, just sits him down on the nearest empty desk and plops a case file in front of him. “Have this memorized by noon,” he says.

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Silver says, because it makes Flint cringe, and opens the case file.

Halfway through reading the file - an absolutely devastatingly boring mortgage fraud case that Silver had solved by page three - the elevator chimes at their floor and a man in a suit a size too big for him walks into the office. He immediately turns to Silver and asks, “This is the FBI headquarters, right?”

“Oh,” Silver says, moving to correct him that yes there were the offices, but _he’s_ not actually, technically FBI, and point him to actual agent when he realizes that almost everyone else was out to lunch. “Yes, but - “

“Please - “ the man says. “Please you have to help me - someone’s trying to kill my daughter.”

 

“My wife and I run a charity,” the man - Mr. Scott, they’ve since learned - says. He takes a sip of the water Flint had Silver get him, his hand shaking a little as he does. “We help recently incarcerated people find shelter, food, jobs - and fight the legal system on behalf of wrongfully convicted people.” He slides a business card across the table and gives them a wan smile. “You may have heard of us - we work on a lot of cases against the FBI, with this department specifically.”

Flint mirrors his smile back to him, and then looks through the file in front of him for something. “Wrongful convictions,” Flint says. “It seems you have some experience with that yourself.”

Mr. Scott’s smile gets tighter. “We’ve found, Agent, that law enforcement in this country is usually incredibly biased against people of my skin color.” He tilts the glass of water like its a toast toward Flint. “Here’s hoping you’ll be different.”

Flint clears his throat. “Right.”

“You said your daughter was getting death threats? Why not go to homicide? Why come to white collar?” Silver butts in, because he wants to start being actually useful.

Mr. Scott sighs. “Madi’s an activist - she’s been organizing protests against this powerful political candidate for the last couple of months, and I think that’s why they’re targeting her. The candidate - he’s been accused of corruption, embezzling campaign funds, racketeering, you name it - and that’s just what’s she’s found so far.” He takes another sip of his water, hands still shaking. “So far nothing seems to stick, but if you can find something on him - if you can get him on something  - Madi would be safe again.” He looks between them. “Please, it’s my daughter. She’s my entire world - I’d - I’d do anything for her.”

Flint and Silver look at each other. “Okay,” Flint says. “We’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Scott says, relieved.

As they watch him leave in the elevator, Silver turns to Flint. “Wow, our first case together and it’s with an organization that rehabilitates ex-felons.” He grins. “How fitting.”

Flint rolls his eyes and smacks Silver in the chest with another file. “Don’t get any ideas. Now, read up on this. I’m going to go set up a meeting with Madi Scott.”

**Author's Note:**

> first off, let it be known that i've rewatched white collar at least 3 times at this point. let it ALSO be known that i still have no fucking clue how crime or the fbi works and i'm not going to pretend to. whatever i don't blatantly steal from the show i'm making up. 
> 
> also, i have no idea where this fic is going, so the ratings and the tags may change accordingly. ur welcome to join me for the fun ride i'm sure this will be.


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